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In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, waves of Italian and Irish immigrants came to the New World, chasing the American dream of freedom and prosperity. But instead of streets paved with gold, they found only hatred and prejudice. Forced to work in our factories, fight in our wars, and speak our language, their rich customs and traditions were absorbed into American culture. In time, they learned to accept their enslavement and became citizens of the very same system that oppressed them. One of my students, a third generation Irish-American, actually speaks fluent English.

Latino immigrants, however, have El Fuego in their blood! They won’t meekly succumb to assimilation like the Europeans did, and have managed thus far to preserve their language and culture. Often, I will see their beautifully decorated lowriders cruising through Tacoma’s hilltop neighborhood, perhaps on their way to purchase bargain Wal-Mart electronics just as their ancient Aztecan ancestors once did. Their deep connection to their Latin heritage is also evident in the impromptu 2am Mariachi contests held in the hallway outside my door, and the bottomless pile of old mattresses and empty cans of menudo by the dumpster are a testament to their deep sense of family and tradition.

Now, the Shrub wants to take that all away from them. By forcing them to become citizens, get social security numbers, pay taxes and “live on the books”, so to speak, Bush will not only destroy what makes undocumented workers so special and unique, but make them susceptible to attacks from evil time-traveling cyborgs as well. Has Bush’s bigotry completely blinded him to the fact that we need these people to pick our fruit and clean our toilets?

Hopefully, their righteous anger over being forced to become American citizens will give undocumented workers the incentive to vote Democrat in November. If not, I fear what they may become.

A recent study at my ol' Alma Mater has concluded that when whiny kids grow up, they become conservatives. When they don’t, they become liberals. Like Nazi mosquitoes to a right-wing bug zapper, weak-minded, insecure children find themselves attracted to the rigid structure that an oppressive world of moral absolutes, strict gender roles, and strong family values can provide. Kids who don’t give a rat’s ass about any of those things naturally gravitate towards the more enlightened left side of the political spectrum.

This comes as no surprise to those of us who have had to put up with bellyaching conservatives for years now. Just the other day, a bunch of us at Seattle Hemp Products were discussing how miserable our lives had become since Bush stole the election and started forcing brain dead Florida lesbian couples to collect cans off the side of the road to pay for their botched back alley abortions, and how that bastard Larry O'Farrell in Accounting kills an AIDS infected baby fur seal every time he gasses up his brand new Chevy Blazer. Suddenly, Alan Murvine in Accounts Receivable popped his red, puffy face out of his cubicle and rudely demanded we quit our “pathetic sniveling” and shut our “greasy, liberal cakeholes”.

Well, I assure you I had no idea that there was a right-wing sissy boy in our midst, and when I informed the vice president of how distraught we all were by Murvine’s insensitive remarks, the intolerant neo-con was summarily dismissed.

In case any of you missed it, Bush pawned the quagmire in Iraq off on Hillary last Tuesday.

When asked at a White House news conference when all US forces would finally pull out of Iraq, Bush replied with a snicker: “That will be decided by future presidents and future governments of Iraq.”

It’s a plan Rovian in its design. While President Hillary is preoccupied with negotiating the terms of our retreat, she will be too busy to make our country safer by tightening security at our ports, easing it at the borders and, most importantly, nationalizing our health care industry. I was looking forward to having my prostate operated on by a postal worker, but now Bush has taken that dream away from me, along with my dignity and every last ounce of joy in this world.

Startling testimony in the trial of Zacarias Moussaoui today as Margaret Chevrette, the manager of an Arizona flight school, explained to the court how a Middle-Eastern, Muslim male with known terrorist connections was able to waltz into this country and take flying lessons with absolutely no scrutiny from federal authorities. According to Chevrette, Hani Hanjour was admitted to the Jet Tech Pan Am International Flight School despite being terribly unqualified and unable to speak English, and during his time there he expressed little interest in learning how to actually take off or land an aircraft. Yet even though Chevrette notified the apathetic FAA of her suspicions on several occasions, Hanjour was allowed to proceed with his training unmolested.

Yes, those were truly America’s brighter and better days. It was a time when a young man with dark skin and crazy dreams of 78 virgins could come to this Great Melting Pot of ours without fear of being eavesdropped on by the government or racially profiled by bigoted Arizona flight instructors. Sadly, those days of innocence are lost – nay, stolen from us by a fascist Bush junta that uses the phony threat of terrorism to slowly chip away at our civil rights. We may live to see those days renewed, once President Hillary is sworn in. But as long as the usurper of the Oval Office is willing to hurt the feelings of one man for the sake of “national security”, we’ll see plenty more Zacarias Moussaouis on trial for their lives.

The Shrub was handed a golden opportunity this morning to level with the American People about his real reasons for attacking Iraq, reasons that Helen Thomas would be more than happy to explain to him if he’d just open his ears and listen. Instead, he used the solemn third anniversary of his illegal and immoral quagmire to exude an unrealistic confidence in our military and its mission, while insulting a beloved American icon in the process.

Helen Thomas, the Great Dane of the Washington press corps, has been the voice of honest journalism for over 175 years, and a thorn in side of both Batman and Commissioner Gordon. Her tough, take-no-prisoners style of questioning has often been mistaken for thinly disguised partisan attacks with question marks at the end of them, but she has inspired generations of progressive journalists with her dauntless courage in the face of a fascist administration, and the throes of a crippling mental illness. Since she was diagnosed with severe senile dementia in 1971, she has been unafraid to broach the questions more rational and sane reporters wouldn’t dare to. It’s a miracle she can even remember who she is, let alone find her way to the White House for one of Bush’s Lie Sessions, and she deserves his respect. If the Shrub won’t confess his crimes against humanity, bring our troops home from Iraq, legalize marijuana and step down for the good of America, then he should at least do it for her.

This year, thousands of hunters will storm the Canadian ice sheets in a bloodthirsty orgy of death, brutally murdering countless baby fur seals and trampling over the last few remaining Beatles in the process. After being bludgeoned with rusty tire irons and skinned alive, they will then be left to die on the ice as their coveted pelts are shipped off to U.S. auto makers and made into SUV seat covers. The fate of the seals is often much worse.

Yet Bush does nothing.

Never before has the hypocrisy of the Christian right been so blaringly obvious. The supposedly “pro-life” Shrub will enthusiastically subsidize the vicious slaughter of fuzzy, helpless, yet incredibly talented musicians, but he will deny a woman her constitutional Right to Choose simply to protect the “life” of an unborn fetus nowhere near as cute and cuddly as a baby fur seal. Indeed, it’s hard to find anything loveable about a lifeless lump of goo that just sits around for nine months, slowly sapping away a woman’s precious life energy. Yet Ringo has grown on us nonetheless, and he’s a damn good drummer, too. A human fetus, on the other hand, serves only to hinder a young woman’s career and severely ruin her ability to party. One look from a baby fur seal’s big brown eyes will make the same woman feel all gooey inside in ways that John Edwards never could, despite what all the focus groups led us to believe.

Since the dawn of time, philosophers have debated the exact moment that life begins. Some say it begins at conception. Others believe it was when Sgt. Pepper was released. But I am sure that we as a society can agree that “cuteness” is a major factor in determining whether something deserves to live or die, just as the amount of Grammies and platinum records a person has is an indicator of how important their opinion is. Christian fundamentalists can go right on living in their magical mystery world where rocking horse people eat marshmallow pies, but until an unborn fetus sprouts fuzzy little flippers and springs out of the womb singing “I Am the Walrus”, the decision must be between the mother and her conscience.

There won’t be a Tower Records or a head shop open for business tomorrow as thousands of progressives plan to walk off their jobs and converge on the nation’s Capitol to forcibly eject the illegal occupiers of the People’s House. Darrow Boggiano of The Political Cooperative - a non-partisan, grassroots organization devoted to doing bong hits while playing Xbox Live - is calling on every patriotic American that values democracy to help him throw out the unelected fascists in the White House and replace them with new ones of his choosing. For the sake of the free world, Bush’s bloody reign of terror, genocide, and tax cuts for the wealthiest one percent of Americans must end. Like that romantic revolutionary immortalized by Swedish historians, Boggiano has led a constant struggle against oppression by wearing his Ché Guevara t-shirt to as many poetry slams and liberal circle jerks as possible. Now, he's ready to bravely sacrifice your lives in order to usher in the dawn of a New America.

Boggiano’s New America will be a nation of peace, not war. No longer will American mothers be forced to sacrifice their sons for illegal wars waged for our own selfish interests and without the sanction of France. Disagreements between governments will be settled by listening to one another, not by dropping smart bombs on weddings and baby milk factories, nor on weddings held at baby milk factories. World leaders will put aside their differences and unite under a banner of friendship, sharing their rescources so that poverty and hunger will no longer plague developing nations. Hate and intolerance will be conquered, universal love and harmony will reign supreme, and Nick and Jessica will get back together I just know they will.

The New America will also be a nation of compassion, not greed. Every able-bodied American will be guaranteed their inalienable right to work, and will be required to exercise that right to provide for those who choose not to. In our New America, greedy oil companies will no longer be able to gouge The People at the pump, for gasoline taxes will be raised to $17 a gallon to discourage The People from driving altogether. The capitalist exploitation of labor will be abolished, and corporations will face severe penalties should they make any more profits off the backs of the working poor. Or if they make any profits at all, for that matter.

Our New America, damn you, will be a nation of love, not hate. Men, womyn, transgendered, polygendered, and nongendered alike will be encouraged to explore their sexuality safe from the disapproving glares of organized religion, and will be free to enjoy a life of marital bliss with small rodents, various forms of poultry, and a wide variety of popular houseplants. Racial bigotry of any kind will not be tolerated, and everyone will be treated equally just as soon as the White Devil has paid his debt for the suffering he’s inflicted on people of color for centuries.

The right-wing media will probably use trick lighting and special effects to make it appear as if the thousands in attendance tomorrow are merely a handful of socially retarded freaks with bad skin and silly hats. They’ll wheel out some clown who claims to be Boggiano, and who will insist that he never really meant to “storm the White House”. It was all metaphorical, he’ll say, like the Bible or the 2nd amendment, and not meant to be taken literally. They’ll even accuse Boopidio of “treason” and ignorantly brand him a "traitor". Yet even though it waddles around and emits a funny sound that ignorant minds might misconstrue as “quacking”, it doesn’t necessarily mean it is a duck. Was Jerry Brown a “duck” when he stormed Harper’s Ferry to end the evil institution of slavery? Was George Washington guilty of “quacking” when he told the United States Senate that his entire army was a pack of war criminals that raped cattle and cut off queues in a fashion reminiscent of Jingus Khan? Countless other brave men and womyn such as those are now hailed as heroes. I am sure that in time, history will vindicate Darrel Boppidius as well.

His mom, however, has grounded him for a whole month. Alas, no one is safe from the iron jackboot of fascism. Nonetheless, Boggiano will fight on. Undaunted by those who insist he got one too many wedgies in high school, he will continue his valiant struggle to make it through the eight level of Elder Scrolls without dying, and won’t rest until the dream of a New America has been realized - for you, for me, for liberty: Boggiano!

It was a morning like any other in the tiny burgh of Chapel Hill, North Carolina. The overpowering stench of wet cigarettes and cow flatulence filled the salty sea air. Small children giggled with delight as they frolicked around the smoldering remains of last night’s cross burning. From the nearby cotton fields, the faint crack of horsewhips could be heard over the drunken whoops of hooded Klansmen.

At the town’s makeshift college, slack-jawed students gathered in the campus community area known as “The Pit”, perhaps to arrange dates with their sisters to the evening’s barn dance, or maybe to cram for the big exam in Tobaccy Chewin’ 101. Little did they know an insidious enemy lurked amongst them, secretly plotting their destruction, patiently waiting for the right moment to strike. It was an enemy allowed to roam freely within our borders for years, welcomed and even embraced by those sworn to protect us. Yet no amount of duct tape or visqueen could prepare the nine hapless Tar Heels for the two-tons of cold metal death that would rampage through their school like Dick Clark through Columbine High, scattering hogs, chickens, and empty cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon to the four winds.

The terrifying evil of SUV’s is nothing new. A Jeep Cherokee killed ten people in Glendale last year. Another was responsible for the death of an elderly man in Miami just two days ago. An SUV was even witnessed at the scene of one of the many church fires that have been plaguing Alabama the past few months. The news of SUV-caused deaths has become so commonplace that the media no longer reports it, this latest incident being no exception. But the threat these oversized vehicles pose to pedestrians is enough to raise even the most pro-SUV eyebrow. When plowed into a crowd of people, a sports utility vehicle is ten times more likely than a passenger car to kill someone, and will do so far less fuel efficiently. In most cases, the Republican driver of the vehicle will walk away from the accident unscathed. The nine young men, women, and transgendered UNC students struck down that day weren’t as lucky, and will face years of reconstructive surgery and emotional therapy before the atmosphere burns off and the ice caps melt, killing them all anyway.

Yet Bush does nothing.

The romantic “terrorist” label has been recklessly bandied about the right-wing blogosphere, yet no abortion clinic was targeted and the SUV was rented, not purchased. Since the man behind the wheel was not a white Christian male, there is little need for the FBI to investigate a “hate crime”, either. Indeed, the whole thing seems like a tragic misunderstanding on the part of the driver, and any further speculation about his motives would only be divisive in time when the Magical Healing Powers of Unity are needed most. However, I would hope that the families of those injured in the accident pursue civil action against both Chrysler and the Bush administration for criminal negligence. Perhaps a hard hit to their bankbooks will force them reconsider unleashing any more dangerous vehicles onto our streets.

Although it's been an incredibly busy week for me, with nary a free minute to even update my blog, I at least made an effort to sit down and watch the Oscars last Sunday night. That’s more than I can say for the rest of America, though. The ratings for this year’s Academy Award ceremonies were the lowest in recorded history, second only to the pilot episode of the Discovery Channel’s Magical Journey Through Phil Donahue’s Digestive Tract. Donahue, of course, insists that the series was sabotaged by right-wing network execs at the behest of the Bush administration. Perhaps so. But with box office numbers continuing to tank as well, one can’t help but wonder if America has somehow lost touch with Hollywood, and how future generations will ever find their way without talented actors and actresses to guide them.

There was a time when the American film industry was little more than an instrument for spewing jingoist propaganda. Fascists like John Wayne and Henry Fonda poisoned millions of young minds with their pro-American cowboy filth. But since the 1960’s, Hollywood has become our moral compass. More than just performing monkeys, actors have become the better angels of our nature, leading us along the path of social progress in ways that people with less perfect hair never could. Schindler’s List taught us about the horrors of death camps years before Abu Ghraib and Gitmo. Eddie Murphy’s wonderful performance in Coming to America brought the civil rights movement out of the Alabama swamps and into the American mainstream. Jane Fonda’s brilliant work in Barbarella dared us to question the pointless futility of the Vietnam War. Through the medium of film, Hollywood has been a force for positive change in America - an evil nation with a bloody past, but a promising future if it would simply follow the loving guidance of the Beautiful People. I’m sure Martin, Coretta, Rosa, and the rest of the cast of The Jeffersons would agree.

That’s what George Clooney tried to tell us when he accepted Heath Ledger’s Oscar the other night, and you could hear the anguish in his voice even as he reminded us of how wonderful he is. America owes so much to our actors and actresses. They fill our sand bags. They serve food at our homeless shelters. They march in our abortion parades. They get drunk, crash their cars, and do informative public service announcements so that we won’t have to. They even fly all the way to Africa to adopt children for a lack of any suitable orphans here at home. Actors give us everything, yet ask for so little in return - save for our unconditional love and political obedience.

If they would simply open their hearts and minds, the useless idiots in Middle America could learn a thing or two from the useful ones in Hollywood.

Anyway, I should be back on a regular posting schedule on Monday. Have a nice weekend, and go see a movie.

It’s finals time again at Evergreen State College, so blogging has been and will continue to be light. As a Professym of Midget Studies and the Kama Sutra, I’ve been terribly busy all week giving my students their quarterly exams. Trying to get their tiny feet up into the stirrups is no easy task, let me tell you. One would think that the little tykes would be a tad more flexible, what with the stretching exercises we've been doing all year. But apparently some individuals would rather party through the whole semester than do their assigned homework. Such disregard for the value of higher education is becoming increasingly typical of each generation of little people that I teach. Sometimes I wonder if there is any hope for midgetkind at all.